I AM A PROSTITUTE

My identical twin sister Jenny visited me this weekend to celebrate the 80th anniversary of Japan's surrender. Our father passed away several years ago. He served with the navy in the Pacific during WWII and was proud of the contribution to his country. He was only 18 when he went overseas. He saw more than his share of action, but nobody died on his ship and he had fond memories of collecting dead Japs from the drink.

My sister is a millionaire. She has her own law firm and lives in the Palace Hotel in downtown San Francisco. She is a sculptress and finds her abstract expression in granite. She also has season tickets to the San Francisco Giants games.

Married five times and with two grown children, she made a confession to the family last Christmas that was a shocker. We had four generations of McHales eating and drinking at my brother's luxurious home when Jenny suddenly announced, "I am a prostitute."

We all sat there in silence. The youngsters were rushed out of the room. My mother started weeping. There was general confusion highlighted by much coughing. I can remember my youngest sister saying, "Does anyone need a drink?" Several hands immediately went up. In the end, we survived the unexpected news.

Last night Jenny and I went for dinner. The restaurant has an outside patio. Jenny and I sat at a table on the deck next to a resaca. The wind was gusting, but it was a typical Brownsville night where the gulf breezes never fail to bring relief after a hot and humid day.

"You have never commented on my life as a prostitute," she said as we ordered our second bottle of wine. We had finished our churrasco, cooked to perfection and accompanied with a Caesar salad. 

"Do you think I should have kept it a secret? I witness all of these individuals coming out of the closet and acting as if they had just discovered a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow and I decided that I wanted to experience that ecstasy."

"We McHales have a reputation for fucking a lot, so I wasn't disturbed by your comment," I responded. "I remember my friends telling me that my sister Jenny was fucking everyone in town, but I never gave a shit. You were an artist, you were in law school and you were a partier. Who was I to judge? They say that nothing compares to getting paid for what you like doing best. I wished chicks paid me, but at my age I would probably go broke. You're almost seventy, Jenny. Do you have that many customers?"

"You would be surprised. There are many wealthy older men in the City who are more than willing to slip you $500 if you blow them or fuck them. About a decade ago I realized that I was so sick and tired of men that I wasn't going to fuck them unless they paid me. I believe that the last ten years have been the happiest of my life."

"Do you use protection?"

"Never. I know that venereal disease doesn't distinguish between classes or ages, but these are successful individuals and most of them are married. Plus, my favorite moment in sex is when a man is ejaculating inside me."

"Have you done more than a man in a night?"

"When I was a teenager and in my early twenties, I did, but I don't have the energy any more and the opportunity doesn't present itself."

"You always thought outside the box, Jenny. Have you told your sons?"

"I did."

"What did they say?"

"They laughed. Now they know where they inherited their unrelenting lusts."

"Some people might say it's a curse to be a McHale."

"And others might say it's a blessing to be a McHale."

I have had a special love for Jenny. She's quite the gal.